Reciprocity
by outkasthpfanatic
Summary: Admitted or not, that was what any girl wanted: reciprocity. And Blair, though not just 'any girl', was still a girl. A one-shot on Blair's thoughts on Chuck and their 'relationship'. Hints of S02E13


She looked at the mirror. When did this happen? Slowly—she touched her cheek slowly, looked at its contours, and felt them. She looked tired and worn out. And this, all of this, was because of love? Wasn't love supposed to be something that made your stomach churn, something that kept you up all night? Yes, this definitely kept her up at night, but for different reasons. Every night, she thought of the countless and _unthinkable_ things that he might do to himself. And while she was killing her braincells off, trying to figure out the enigma that is Chuck Bass, there was no assurance that someone was doing the same for her, that someone was _also_ looking after her.

And admitted or not, that was what any girl wanted: reciprocity.

Blair went out for a walk. They say that trying times made you stronger in the end, but she was unsure; could she even make it to the end? Trying times, indeed.

She remembered their _quiet _moments, their plotting moments, their heated (mostly due to arguing) moments. And how she wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the things they fought about. She thought she had been experiencing what _real _pain was. But in comparison to what they were experiencing right now, their fights back then would be Paris Hilton put beside Audrey Hepburn. If she were asked, though, she'd rather go back to those moments. The heart can only take too much, you know.

And as if seeing Chuck Bass messed up wasn't enough, Blair finally understood what 'stinging words' meant courtesy of Chuck himself.

_"Well, that's too bad." _

Not exactly the words you'd expect from someone you'd just professed your love to, yes? But their relationship was beyond normal, even dysfunctional if you'd ask her.

Blair knew what death _can_ do to someone, even if she has not experienced it firsthand (and thank heavens for that). She knew the troubles it can stir, the pain it can cause; its aftermath, basically. But add trouble and Chuck Bass, and you get trouble a thousand-fold. She never planned of getting sucked into any of this.

Blair knew it; He spelled trouble. He was a walking sign that flashed, 'Stay away, lest suffer the consequences'. And she should've heeded that sign and stayed away. Oh how she should've! Had she done that, maybe now she wouldn't be _this _affected. She'd still get involved as his friend, but not with the current involvement that she had managed to get herself into. All of this because of love. _Love. _If love were tangible, then she would ban it. She would burn it or lock it up in a cold cell for making people feel like this. She would seal it into a wooden box, and then throw it into the ocean for the savage fish to eat. That way, it would stop making people _miserable_.

But then again, maybe this isn't love, for isn't love supposed to be reciprocated?

Her phone's ringing shakes her out of her reverie. And she hears the object of her affliction's raspy voice.

"Pickpockets," he says.

And she gets what he's trying to tell her. One word—she gets it. Do you now see what she means? They had something unique between them, something that she and Nate didn't have; something that even she and Serena did not have.

"Where are you?" She asks, slightly annoyed. Did he get drunk again?

"I don't know," he replies.

"Good thing they haven't taken your mobile, then?" She blurts.

"Payphone." And she sighs. "I had loose change somewhere," he adds.

"Okay, describe your surroundings before your _loose change_ run out," she says, quite annoyed at Chuck Bass's stupidity and at her own for _still _helping him out.

And she spends the next few minutes trying to figure out where he is. After playing phone-charade with a person whom she assumes was hung-over, Blair calls home for the driver so that they could fetch Chuck. On the way to where he was, it occurred to her that he knew her mobile number; unless Chuck was bringing a phonebook, or he just punched random numbers and, lo and behold, it fortunately was Blair's. And somehow, that made her smile a little.

A thought comes up. _Love need not be reciprocated. The love we give someone is already whole; we just focus too much on trying to get the other to love us back._

Now, where could she ever have heard that? She is clueless.

They reach their destination and she sees him on a bench.

It was a chilly day but the atmosphere got chillier. He was more unkempt than before and she didn't know whether to give the muggers _credit_ for that or to give credit to Chuck himself, for it was possible that he was already like this when they found him. How they had even known he had something they could mug was beyond her. He looked dirty, very un-Bass, for lack of a better word.

"Scared the muggers away, Chuck?" Only Blair Waldorf could crack a joke at times like these.

He could only muster half a smirk. As he looked like he was about to pass out, she rushes to him.

"Driver! Help me here! Faster!" She yells, panic suddenly sinking in.

They carry Chuck into the limo. His whole body is very cold, and he looks pasty up close.

"Let's get Chuck _home _to the Van Der Woodsen's," Blair tells the driver.

He regains consciousness and then tries to protest to this, but Blair shushes him. He positions his head onto her lap, which takes her by surprise.

"Thank you," he mutters hoarsely before he closes his eyes once more to try to sleep.

He was too weak, too tired to put up defenses. And she found herself tearing up a bit at this. Where were the insults, the protests? Where was the sarcasm? And more importantly, where was Chuck?

He was vulnerable in front of her. Finally, some would say; for when a man shows vulnerability, that must mean something, right? But Blair would, if she could, refuse to see this side of him. Too painful to bear, she thinks.

He was a shell. An empty messed up shell.

She would be by his side, for as long as her heart could bear. Maybe she won't get him to say those three precious words now. Maybe she'd get him to say them after four months, maybe never. But for now, 'thank you' was enough. Reciprocity isn't the main goal, she tells herself. She closes her eyes. And somehow, she believes it.

* * *

AN: First Gossip Girl fic. Review, loves. :)


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